


Observers

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets of people observing TFW. Not chronological.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

\--2009--

It's been a long day, and Dana is tired.

She yawns and ducks down below the counter, hunting for the novel she'd dropped earlier. Maybe the adventures of Sam and Dean will cheer her up. She's read this one, Mystery Spot, a few times, but it's still one of her favorites. She can't imagine how awful it must have been for Sam to watch his brother die over and over, but on the other hand, to might be kind of neat to be able to get a fresh start on a day. _If it were me, I'd be like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day,_ she thinks with a grin. _Or Jack O'Neill in that episode of Stargate. I'd learn new skills and try out things I always wanted to try. I'd kiss that sexy UPS guy right on the face, for one._

She's lost in a daze of imaginings, leaning on the counter with her eyes closed, when someone clears their throat. She sits up with a start and nearly tips off her chair, but a warm hand wraps around her upper arm and rights her.

She looks at the hand and follows it up a beige-sleeved coat until she reaches worried bright blue eyes.

“Are you all right?” asks the man, his voice low and gravelly.

She nods, and he pulls away.

The bell on the door rings and another man enters, this one wearing worn jeans and an open olive green button down over a grey tee, and he might be the most beautiful man Dana has ever seen.

“Cas?” his voice isn’t quite as low as the other’s, but it’s still deep enough to send a shiver down her spine. “You good?”

The first man ( _Cas? What kind of a name is that?_ ) turns and nods gravely. “Yes, Dean. Everything is fine.”

 _Oh my god his name is Dean. Could he be any more perfect?_ Dana straightens up, surreptitiously straightening her blouse and leaning forward with a smile. “You guys need rooms for the night?”

Dean ( _Dean!_ ) slaps a wad of cash down on the counter. “Just a double’ll be fine.” He gives her a smile. “Slow day?”

She smiles back, trying to contain her glee. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Cas frowning, looking between the two of them. “Yeah, you know. Always slow after the summer crowd heads home.”

He nods and takes the key she hands him. “Thanks.”

She’s about to say something else, try to recapture the flirty air from earlier, but he turns and catches Cas’s eye and a look passes between them.

 _Oh. OH._ Dana is intrigued. _Definitely some tension there._

As the two men head out of the office towards the rooms, she picks up her forgotten novel, but can’t focus back in on the story. She’s more curious about _this_ Dean than the Dean in the story, with his well-dressed companion and the pain in his eyes even when he smiles. She wants to know whether they’re together, and if not, how they can stand to travel with someone they look at like that who they’re _not_ at least dating.

She shakes her head. _Men._

 

\--Three Years Later--

 

Dana’s sitting at the desk, laptop on her lap, downloading the next fic from _samlicker81._ She snorts as she reads the author’s note at the top. _Lazarus Rising was good, but does she honestly expect us to buy that she found Carver Edlund’s unreleased manuscripts?_

The bell rings, and she shuts the laptop and slides it under the desk. “Yes?”

The two men are familiar, and it takes her a moment to place them.

The one who’d been in the trenchcoat before is now dressed like his friend, both in jeans and flannel. The powerful air around him has faded, leaving only his crackling blue eyes, and he seems somehow softer, his hair longer and mussed and his face a few years older.

His companion looks similarly aged, his almost-military-short hair grown out to a side-parted, sun-bleached light brown. And he looks lighter as well, as if a weight has fallen off his shoulders.

“One double, right?” she asks, and Dean narrows his eyes at her.

“Nah, a king.” He looks at her closely. “Hey, you’re the same chick who was here last time. Isn’t she, Cas?”

Cas smiles at her. “Yes, Dean.”

That’s when she remembers the fic she’d read just a few days earlier. Castiel, an angel, had pulled Dean from Hell and brought him back to life. He’d had bright blue eyes and a trench coat and--

“Dana?” Those same blue eyes are looking at her closely. “Is everything all right?”

She nods wordlessly and takes the cash Dean’s holding out. _Could this really be Dean? Dean, with his car and his guns and his brother and angel?_

_And could that guy be an angel? Like, really?_

_Do angels even need hotel rooms?_

It’s a good thing she’s been doing this for years, because she realizes she’s processed the transaction and handed them a key without even noticing as she panics.

Dean’s still looking at her strangely, but he takes the key and turns to the door. Cas follows closely, and Dean ushers him through with a hand on the small of his back.

 _So I guess they did get it figured out,_ she thinks with a smile as she watches them unlock the door to a single room. _Good for them._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to sendermage for the beta!

The case is a weird one. There’s no doubt about that.

It’s the sort of case that makes Aaron wonder why he decided to take his golem hunting instead of letting it loose to fight Nazis, or whatever it would otherwise be doing.

The body is blue.

Not blue like drowned-and-looking-grey blue (and he’s kind of horrified to notice that he would recognize that now) but more like Tobias-Funke-I-blue-myself blue. It’s not a good look for anyone, that much he’s sure of.

He’s just sent his disapproving shadow to go move some rocks away from the body when he hears a familiar voice.

”–Agents Plant, Morrison and Richards, FBI. I hear you got a body for us.”

“Holy shit,” Aaron mutters, drawing a glance from the forensic guy brushing away dirt from a coffee cup next to him. He flashes the guy a quick smile, trying to keep his fake-cop-face firmly in place, and stands, scanning the crowd at the crime scene for a familiar chiseled jaw. He finally spots a group of three suited men about twenty yards away, talking to the ranger who’d found the body. It’s definitely them; Sam’s long hair is blowing in the breeze, and he’d recognize Dean’s firm rear anywhere after following him for a day and a half. He takes a deep breath, getting himself back into character as Sgt Aaron Taft (shit, or is he Tyler today? Truman? No, definitely Taft), and walks towards them.

“Sgt. Truman!” calls Ranger Rob. “Can you tell these guys I’ve already told you what happened? Really don’t want to go through it again.”

“They’re the Feds, Rob. Different rules,” he replies, apologetic, and grins at Dean as the three men turn as one. “Why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee? Tell the guys I said it was cool.”

The ranger nods and walks towards the CSI tent, grumbling. 

Sam’s the first to speak, glancing from him to Dean and back again, then holding out a hand for Aaron to shake. “It's good to see you, man! You a hunter now?”

Aaron nods. “Yeah. I figured there weren’t that many zombie Nazis out there, so we'd give this a try instead.”

“And the golem? He still around?”

Aaron points into the bushes. “Yeah, silent-but-deadly’s in the bushes lifting heavy things. He doesn’t say much these days, but he makes me look intimidating.”

Sam chuckles, and Aaron looks at Dean. “How’ve you guys been?”

Dean glances at him, then at the man beside him. “We’ve been, uh, we’ve been good. You know. Hunting people. Saving things. Um, the usual. How about you?”

The other guy’s giving Dean a weird look and edging closer to him, and Aaron holds out a hand to him. “Aaron Bass.”

He shakes it after a glance at Dean. “Castiel.”

“Oh, you’re the angel, right? Sam told me about you.” Something sad flickers across Castiel’s face.

“I was an angel, yes. Not anymore.”

There’s an awkward moment of silence.

“Anyway-” Dean clears his throat. “You want help on this? Or do you have it covered?”

“Actually, I could definitely use your help on this.” Aaron’s always amazed to see Dean switch instantly from the awkward guy he’d been when they’d met last year into the competent professional he knows Dean is. “The guy is blue. Also dead. But I figured blue was the relevant part.” He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out a plastic bag. “I’ve got skin samples. And lots of photos. You guys want to head back to my place and check them out?”

“Sounds good to me,” answers Sam. “Guys?”

Dean nods and turns to Aaron. “Same house as last time?”

\-----

Dean’s still awkward and flustered around him, and at first he’d thought that meant there might still be a chance of something happening between them.

Sam is out grabbing some food, and Cas is leaving to pick up a book from the library. Dean follows him to the door and pauses, turning towards Cas. Aaron, who’d followed him into the hall to wave the angel off, pauses and watches, some instinct telling him his questions might be about to be answered.

Cas is pulling on his coat, checking his pockets for the keys, and Dean’s watching him with a fond expression on his face. Castiel says something and Dean chuckles and slings an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a quick kiss, and Aaron backs up around the corner, embarrassed to see such a private moment.

He’s sitting on the couch a few minutes later when Dean wanders back in, and he listens in surprise as his mouth opens and he says, “So you and the angel, huh?”

Dean looks up at him, eyes wide, mouth dropping open for a moment, then blinks. “Uh. Yeah. Me and Cas.”

Aaron sits back. “Huh. So I was right.”

“Right about what?”

“You. And men. I’m not usually wrong about these things.”

Dean looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Uh. Yeah. About that-" he sighs and runs a hand over his face. "Look, I didn't mean to freak out that time, you know? It's just--"

"There was somebody else."

Dean sighs. "Yeah. Sort of. He was- he was away. And we weren't- not yet."

The door opens as Aaron nods in understanding, and Sam's greeting rings out to halt the conversation. He pokes his head into the room, holding up a bag of what smells like burgers, and Dean jumps up. "Aaron, you up for burgers?"

\-----

He stands on his stoop as they drive away, not all that sure how to feel. He'd wished for months after they'd met that Dean would call, knowing it was unlikely. He'd only given them his number on a whim, anyway, telling them (telling _Dean_ ) to call if they're ever in the area.

Dean hadn’t called.

Sam had texted, once, asking if the golem knew anything about an obscure portion of Jewish lore. He’d texted the information back an hour later, but that’d been it. He’d thought about calling back, once he had Sam’s number, but he hadn’t.

But seeing them now? Seeing Dean happy (or as happy as he could be, with the life they lead)?

Aaron can’t help but feel a little bittersweet.

Sure, it’s great that he’s happy. He’s found someone that lightens his load, as his grandma Bass used to say.

But honestly?

Aaron really, really would have liked to tap that.

Just once.


	3. Chapter 3

“Sir, I’m going to need you to put your phone away before we take off.”

Today’s the last day of five in a row that she’s worked, and Sarah is exhausted. She’s done Kansas City to Dallas to New York, then New York to Minneapolis, then Minneapolis to LA to Boston to Heathrow and back to Dallas, and now she’s on her final leg back to Kansas City. It’s nice to work this much, because her mom’s not doing so well and might need the money, but _damn_ if she isn’t exhausted.

“Sir, we’re taking off any minute now. I need you to buckle your seatbelt and turn off the phone.”

The man in 14C is tall and handsome, with a chiseled jaw, laugh lines, and green eyes that are probably gorgeous when they’re not full of panic.

But right now she can’t appreciate how unbelievably attractive the man is. Right now, he’s just a really, really annoying customer.

She knows she should feel a little bad. It’s obvious that he’s terrified and panicking. But it’s been a long week, and she just doesn’t have the patience for it right now.

He finally turns to her, pulling the phone from his ear, and gives a shaky smile that’s blindingly attractive despite the edge of panic. “I’m sorry, I’m just, uh, not a great flyer. And my–” he pauses, searching for the word, “–my friend was supposed to be here, but I can’t reach him and I’m worried something might have happened.”

Sarah tries to pull compassion from the depths of her soul somewhere and smiles back. “I understand flying can be difficult, but we really need you to turn your phone off. It’s the law. It could be dangerous to have it on when we take off.”

He glances at his watch and frowns. “We’ve still got a few minutes, right? I mean, if he got here right now, he could still get on, couldn’t he?”

She sighs and looks down at her own watch. “If your friend arrives at the gate in the next four minutes, yes. He can still get on.” She meets his pleading eyes and feels her heart melt just a little bit. “What is his name? I can have the desk page him and make sure he knows we’re leaving.”

The man smiles again, a little more genuine this time. “It’s Cas. Uh. Castiel. Castiel– Castiel Winchester.”

She wonders a little at the hesitation before the last name, and looks down at her passenger list. _Dean Winchester_ , reads the name for 14C.

And suddenly she understands. This is Texas, and he’s waiting for a man with his last name. A man who maybe hasn’t always had that last name.

Sarah is a Kansas girl, born and bred, but she’s always been a little more open-minded than most folks. She’s always been of the opinion, for instance, that people should be allowed to love who they love, and damn anyone who says otherwise. 

She softens a little more, and leans in closer. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Winchester. If he’s here, we won’t leave without him.”

The smile she gets in return is worth the trouble. “Thank you. I’m just– I’m worried about him. He’s never flown before.”

Somehow she thinks it’s not this Castiel who’ll be needing the comfort, but she keeps that thought to herself as she nods reassuringly and walks up to the door. Just as she’s stepping onto the jetway, a man in jeans and a tan overcoat rushes down the ramp, nearly crashing into her before skidding to a halt. 

“Am I too late? Has the plane left?” He asks, breathlessly, blue eyes full of worry.

“Castiel Winchester?”

He gives her a small, confused smile, one that seems almost unpracticed on his face. “Yes, that’s me.”

She smiles back at him and steps aside, gesturing for him to get onto the plane. “Go ahead in. Dean was worried about you.”

He frowns, hesitating. “Is he alright?”

She nods. “He’s not the calmest passenger I’ve seen, but he’s there.”

“Dean doesn’t like to fly,” he says, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially. “He isn’t afraid of many things, but planes make him very uncomfortable.”

She chuckles, charmed by his serious tone. “I think he’ll feel better when you make it on. Go ahead in. You’re in row 14.”

He thanks her and hurries into the plane, sliding into his seat and murmuring something to Dean, whose face lights up as soon as their eyes meet.

 _I hope I find someone to look at me like that some day,_ thinks Sarah as she pulls the bulkhead closed and watches them settle in. Castiel is fumbling with his seatbelt and Dean’s shoulders are loosening every second, color returning to his face as he bats his companion’s hands away and tightens Castiel’s seatbelt carefully, apparently pointing out the different parts and their functions. Castiel picks up the safety card and begins to read through each instruction carefully while Dean smiles at him indulgently, face just inches away from Castiel’s.

Sarah turns to the cockpit to start their procedures for takeoff. Suddenly she’s very glad to be going home.


	4. Chapter 4

Jimmy’d like to think that he knows Castiel pretty well at this point.

Or at least, as well as anyone can know a multidimensional wave of celestial intent that’s currently sharing one’s body.

At first it’d been overwhelming, being trapped alongside this massive being in one meatsuit. He’d taken months to adjust to being a passenger in his own body.

But by this point, three years into their strange partnership, he was pretty used to it.

They even chat sometimes now: Castiel asking questions on the finer points of humanity, Jimmy satisfying his curiosity about heaven and history.

And sometimes, when Castiel is distracted and focusing hard on something, his thoughts leak out into their shared space.

Jimmy’s dozing in the back corner of their brain when he’s jolted awake by an intent whisper.

_What is he doing?_

Jimmy yawns and stretches, a habit he’s never managed to shake despite have neither a mouth nor limbs to stretch, and peeks out their eyes.

Castiel is staring at Dean ( _What else is new_ ) and seems to be sitting on a motel bed somewhere in the South. Tennessee, judging by the truly spectacularly ugly Elvis statue on the nightstand. Jimmy chuckles to himself briefly. _I’d be great at Jeopardy if I ever got my life back._

Dean isn’t staring back, which is sort of new. Instead, he’s holding a large hardcover book on one knee, scribbling on a form tucked inside it.

Jimmy nudges Castiel gently, letting him know he’s awake, and sends a questioning note the angel’s way.

Castiel sends back a tendril of bewilderment.

Jimmy looks closer, trying to resist the urge to squint (why bother when you have no eyelids) and then chuckles. There’s a giant red dragon on the front of the book, and Jimmy knows what it is.

_It’s a game, Cas. He’s getting ready to play a game._

The answer doesn’t seem to clear much up for Cas.

Jimmy opens the walls between their thoughts, pushing through a memory of a long night in college with his freshman year roommates Mark and Alex and their friends. The group crowds around a table, watching Alex avidly as he lays out a paper map marked with roads and towns and forests.

They’re each holding a sheet of paper with a name at the top and rows of numbers and lists. Jimmy’s is titled “Thalgor the Brave” and in the top right corner he’s doodled a stick figure with an axe and helmet.

Jimmy feels Castiel about to ask a question, and he shushes him.

“All right,” says Alex. “You guys ready to get started?” He takes out a die and holds it up. “Get out your d20 and roll for initiative.”

 _It’s a roleplaying game, Castiel,_ he thinks to his companion _. The dice tell you what happens, and you build a story around that._

_And this is fun?_

Jimmy nods, still watching the memory avidly. _Yeah, Castiel. It’s fun._ He didn’t realize how clearly he’d remembered this night, honestly. It’d just been one of a hundred of them fooling around in their room like normal kids. He feels a sudden pang, wondering where Mark and Alex are now. Did Mark get to use his engineering degree like he’d hoped? Does Alex still play the tuba? Do they have kids? Are they married?

He feels Castiel in the background, trying not to intrude, and he sighs. _It’s okay. I’m just a little nostalgic, I guess._ He folds the memory away gently, closing the door with a click. _Anyway. It's probably something he played as a kid._ He pauses for a moment. _Actually, probably not, from what I've seen of his childhood. It's probably something he washed he could play in his childhood and hasn't gotten the chance until now._

A wave of sadness passes through Cas. _There are many things that's true of, I think._

Jimmy smiles. _But he's getting to do them now._

_He is._

_Castiel--_ Jimmy takes a phantom deep breath. _You should ask if you can join him._

The angel's surprise is a bright flash through their shared space. _I should?_

Jimmy nods. _I know how you feel about him._

Castiel pushes back into a corner, walls flying up between them, and Jimmy waits. Castiel might be an angel, but Jimmy has learned that that doesn't mean he's any more patient or logical than any other person. He's also discovered that he can usually wait Castiel out when he's freaked out.

It's just a few minutes of sitting there, still watching Dean, and Jimmy watches Dean for lack of Anyang else to focus on (and since his eyes are pointed that way and there's nothing he can do about it). After five minutes of so, the walls slowly thin, then melt back down.

 _You do?_ Castiel's voice is hesitant, quiet, and Jimmy smiles. 

 _Yeah, Castiel. It's fine._ He gestures at Dean, saying, _the way you stare at him? Not hard to miss. And, uh, he stares right back at you, you know?_

Castiel's focus is intent on him, and Jimmy fights to keep from being burned back down under the level of consciousness. 

_So you should go over there, Cas. Go talk to him. Maybe you'll learn something, or god forbid, have some fun._

Castiel thinks for a moment, then stands their body upright. _Thank you, Jimmy._

Jimmy sinks back down, suddenly exhausted by the conversation and the effort of walking Castiel through memory and emotion. _You're welcome._

Just before he falls back into unconsciousness, he catches a glimpse of Dean's face, open and pleased and maybe even a little bashful, as he hands Cas a sheet of paper and a set of dice.


	5. Chapter 5

George has been driving a cab for three years through the streets of Portland, but he’s never had a fare quite like this one.

There are three men in the back of his car.

That’s not the unusual part. It’s not all that common to squeeze three full-grown men in the back, true, but it's not impossible.

No, this is different.

For one thing, one of them is unconscious. 

But that’s not all that rare, either. Portland’s a pretty big city with a lot of bars, and George has taken his fair share of drunken parties home on late Saturday nights. He’s even got some regulars who call him when they leave the bars and tip him well to get there quick and get them home quicker. He’s got the routes in his head for his usual customers every Saturday night, with easy adjustments based on who calls, and he likes it that way. It’s structure for his hectic, unstructured life, and that’s a good thing.

Of course, you can’t always stick to a schedule. Tonight Patty’s out of town, so she’s not going to call for a pickup at the White Raven like most Saturdays. And Charles hasn’t needed to call George this late since he met Mindy a few weeks ago and she got him out of the bars some nights.

So instead, George was cruising the streets, bored, and idly looking for someone who might be an interesting fare.

And he should know better than to wish for an interesting night.

He’s not in his usual part of town. Somehow in his random driving he’s edged out into a warehouse district, and wasn’t expecting to find anyone to pick up. Imagine his surprise when he saw a hand frantically waving him down from an alleyway.

So he’s got these guys. One, the big one with the hair, isn’t saying much. He’s slumped to one side, head on the hard-eyed man’s shoulder, while the other one, with the long coat and the stubble, unbuttons hair-man’s shirt and examines what looks like a really nasty bruise forming there.

“Where to, guys? Hospital?”

The trenchcoat guy lifts his head, meeting George's eyes in the mirror. "No, thank you." His voice was shockingly deep, rolling through the car. "The Pacific Motel, please." He bends back down, ear inches from the unconscious man's chest. "Dean," he says more quietly, "He's going to be fine. It was just a minor spell.”

 _Spell?_ George wonders. _Nah. Must’ve heard wrong._ He forces his eyes back on the road and away from the mirror as traffic starts moving again.

“Then why isn’t he waking up, Cas?” There’s an edge of panic in the other man’s voice. “Sammy–” his voice is choked. “Come on, Sammy. We’re almost back to the room. I don’t want to have to carry your sorry ass again.”

The first man–Cas?– reaches out a hand as they stop at another red light. He stretches across Sammy’s lap and rests it on Dean’s knee and Dean takes a deep shuddery breath. “It’s normal for this sort of reaction. He’s likely to sleep for about an hour, then wake up with the effects worn off.”

 _Drugs, maybe?_ Thinks George as he takes in Sammy’s pallor and the tremor in his shoulders. _He’s lucky to have these two, though._ He glances back again to see Dean sliding his arm around Sam’s shoulder, fretting and trying to make him more comfortable.

“Is he gonna be all right? You sure you don’t want me to take you to the ER?” George is all for letting customers be in charge, sure, but there’s liability involved here. And he really doesn’t like having to clean up vomit or blood from his cab.

It’s Dean who turns this time. “He’s gonna be fine.” He sounds like he almost believes it, and George wonders if this Cas guy is some sort of doctor or something, anything that would put that confidence in Dean’s voice when he’d been so frantic a few moments earlier. “Just bring us to the motel.”

George nods and turns down the road leading towards the Pacific Motel, and a few moments later parks in front next to a sleek, classic black car. “Need some help?”

“We’re fine,” Cas replies, and jogs around to the other side of the car, helping Dean shoulder Sam’s weight between them. They lean for a few moments on the Impala in the spot next door as he hands George a few bills. “Is that enough to cover the ride?”

George tries to hand it back –he’s pretty sure no one’s ever tried to tip him $30 on a $10 fare before– but the three are already opening a motel room door and pulling Sam inside.

George shakes his head and slides back into the driver’s seat. _I’ll hang around a few minutes. Just in case._

Inside the room, the light flicks on and he sees a merged silhouette of three people approach the bed and separate into two standing, one being laid down. An arm reaches out towards the bed, and he imagines it’s Dean, brushing Sam’s hair from his forehead with the strange tenderness George had seen in his eyes before. It’s not a friendship thing, or a lovers look; if he had to pick, he’d say it’s the look a parent would give a sick child, but Dean can’t be more than five, six years older than Sam.

The other shadow moves forward and reaches out tentatively, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean stiffens momentarily, then his shoulders slump and he sits down, head in hands.

Cas follows, sitting so close that no light even shows between them, and pulls Dean close. George starts the car, watching as the two sit together, keeping a silent vigil over the bed. Just as he’s about to pull out, a tousled, long haired head pokes up from the general area of the bed and both seated men turn.

George smiles as he pulls out. He’s been a cab driver for a few years, and most nights are pretty dull. But some nights he gets to be a part of a story, part of a life, just for a few minutes. He wonders what these men have been through to leave them so tired and hard-looking, and what it is that keeps them able to light up with affection and tenderness like that.

His phone rings and he smiles. It’s old Josie, back from her weekend poker night; a fare with a little less excitement is just what he needs.

 


	6. Chapter 6

She’s still got his number in her phone.

It’s been almost a decade since her dad and the ghost truck and that whole weird week of old memory and new terror, but he’s been in the back of her mind ever since.

So when something else strange happens, she hesitates for a few days. First it’s an odd sound in their new house; her husband thinks it might be the pipes, and she tries to believe him.

Then it’s furniture that’s not quite where she’d thought it had been. A single kitchen chair finds its way to the bathroom, and one morning she swears her bedroom dresser is six inches closer to the window than it’d been the night before.

Jin swears it’s nothing, that one of them must have moved it and not remembered. He starts muttering about sleepwalking and short term memory and Cassie mostly tunes him out. She knows if he gets trapped in that line of thought there'll be a new book in the works in no time.

Instead, she pulls out her phone and scrolls through the contacts. Would he even remember her now? Has his life changed? Is he still the carefree kid with the shuttered eyes she'd known years ago, or would the man she'd seen a few glimpses of the last time he'd come through town be even clearer?

Jin knows about Dean, of course. After four years of marriage and especially after what secrets had done to her last long-term relationship, she made sure of that. So he knows about their relationship, about the breakup, about the ghost truck and the wild introduction to Dean’s real life that she’d gotten.

She’s not sure if he believes her, though. She understands that, since he wasn't there. He didn't see it, and if it were her and he were the one with the story, she doesn't think she'd buy it either.

But regardless, it's never easy to call an ex for help with something your current partner can't do.

So it's not until the writing literally appears on the wall (in what looks like blood, no less) that she finally gives in and calls.

The phone rings four times, and Cassie starts to wonder if maybe his number has changed. Maybe he’s retired from hunting, moved on, met a nice girl and settled down with a picket fence. Or maybe he’s just changed his phone number.

She refuses to consider the alternative, though it’s there in the back of her mind.

She’s just about to hang up when there’s a fumble and a click and a deep, unfamiliar voice says, “Hello?”

She’s silent for a moment, long enough that the voice repeats the greeting, a little more testily.

Finally, she responds. “Hi, I’m looking for Dean? Dean Winchester?”

There’s a crackle on the line and muted conversation, then Dean’s voice comes through the line. “Hey, this is Dean.” He yawns over his name, and his image comes rushing back to her, his eyes hazy with sleep and his hair tousled.

“Hi.” She’s not sure what else to say.

There’s a thump and a muffled “Oh shit!” before he replies again. “Cassie?”

The deeper voice speaks again, not clearly enough for Cassie to understand.

“Yeah, hey, Dean. I’ve got something going on that I could use your help on.”

There’s silence for a moment, then Dean’s back, his voice a little more alert. She pictures him running a hand over his face and through his hair. “Okay. Tell me what you’ve got.”

\-----

It takes him just over ten hours from that conversation before he calls again, saying they’re just a half hour or so away. She spares a brief moment to wonder who the rest of the “they” are, if Dean’s still traveling with his brother or if he’s found someone else to back him up, but can’t focus too much on it because her house has begun to drip blood in sheets from the walls.

On the bright side, Jin finally believes her when she says something’s going on that’s not quite natural.

She’d sent them all her research via text message, and Dean had responded immediately that it sounded like a simple job if the body was in fact in the basement floor where the legend suggested.

She hears the Impala before she sees it, and despite everything that’s going on she can’t help but smile a little at the low rumble in the distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her husband stepping towards her. 

“You all right?” He asks, resting a hand on her shoulder. “This has got to be weird for you.”

Her smile widens. “I promise you, it’s about to get weirder.”

He snorts. “Yeah. I bet.”

She leans into his touch as she watches the car round the corner and pull up to the driveway.

Three men get out. 

The first is obviously Dean. Nine years is a long time, but he’s still got that broad chest and green eyes and he’s flashing that old grin at her that she can’t help but return.

The passenger door opens to reveal what must be Sam, the little brother she’d heard so much about while they’d been together and who she’d met nine years ago. He’s gigantic, heavily muscled and long-haired and only his sparkling hazel eyes and dimples are really the same, but he smiles at her as well and she smiles back as Dean sweeps her into a hug, holding her tight for a moment before stepping back and gesturing backward. “You remember Sam. And that’s Cas.” She’s so distracted by the unexpected show of affection that it takes her a moment to recall that there’s someone else with the brothers.

The third man she doesn’t recognize, but he nods solemnly at her and at Jin, who steps forward and holds out a hand to Dean. “Jin. Cassie’s husband. Thanks for helping us out with this.”

Dean shakes his hand warmly, and Cassie marvels at the friendliness and at his open gaze. He’s different, somehow; more settled and relaxed and comfortable, and it’s a good look on him. 

The five of them walk towards the house, which now seems to be in a haze of fog, and Sam pulls out what looks like an iPhone with an antenna stuck on top.

Dean rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh, but takes the device and starts sweeping it across the lawn. Sam pulls out metal bars from a duffel and hands one to each of them. “If you see a ghost or anything, swing this at them, all right? Iron weakens them.”

They nod and continue towards the house.

“Dean,” says Cas quietly. “I’m sensing something to your right.”

Jin turns to Cas. “What do you mean, sensing? Are you a psychic? Because at this point I’d believe anything.”

Cas gives a sad smile and shakes his head. “I was an angel of the Lord. I retained some of my abilities when Heaven was closed.”

Jin stops in his tracks. “Wait, what? Heaven– Angel– what?”

As curious as Cassie is, they’ve got things to do. She takes him by the arm. “Not now, hun. Ghosts to hunt, remember?”

He shakes his head, muttering almost to himself, “But if there are ghosts and Heaven is closed, where do they go?”

The knot in Cassie’s chest loosens a little as he grumbles, and Cas drops back to murmur, “It’s closed to angels. Human souls can still enter.”

“Ah. Right.” Jin’s voice is flat. “Of course they can.”

Cas nods and holds out an arm as  they reach the edge of the path to the porch. “You should wait here. It shouldn’t be dangerous out here.”

Jin looks like he’s about to protest, but Cassie shakes her head. “They’re the experts, Jin. Trust them on this, all right?”

Reluctantly, he nods, and they watch as Cas follows Dean and Sam into the house.

“So that’s the famous Dean?” asks Jin quietly, scanning the lawn for any sign of movement.

“Yeah.” She hesitates. “He’s different now, though. He’s grown up well, I think.”

“He seems like a good guy.”

She nods. “He is. He always was.”

There’s a _THUD_ from inside the house and both spin and stare at the door. 

Sam bursts through it first, yelling “GO GO GO!” and shoving them towards the driveway. Just behind him come Dean and Cas, Dean holding an arm close to his chest while Cas follows inches behind. They skid to a stop next to the Impala and pant as Cas pulls the keys from Dean’s pocket and throws them to Sam. Cassie ends up squashed in the back with Dean in the middle and Cas on the other side while Jin climbs in the front with Sam and they fishtail out of the spot with a screech of burning rubber.

Dean’s still grimacing and clutching his arm where it’s pressed between him and Cas, and Cassie can’t help but notice the way he leans against the other man. Cas’s arm slides between Dean and the seat and cradles Dean’s injured side against himself as he examines the wound with his other hand.

“Cassie, hand me the first aid kit. It’s just behind your seat,” Cas is polite, but there’s a tone of urgency and tension in his voice and Cassie rushes to comply. He pulls out a swab and a length of gauze and gently works Dean’s overshirt sleeve down his arm and off until he’s bare to his bicep. Dean hisses as the cloth passes over his wound, but stays still. Cas gently runs a swab across Dean’s skin then pulls out a length of bandage.

Cassie can't help but watch, trying desperately not to look back at what's she's sure is a smoking crater where her house had stood. Cas's touch is gentle and Dean's still leaning into him, eyes closed and head hanging. The bandage finished, Cas's fingers run across it lightly and then brush along his arm and Dean lets out a shuddery sigh.

And that’s when she realizes what’s different about Dean, at least one thing. As he sits between the two of them, their breathing all returning to normal, Cas watches him closely, concern and what must be love shining clearly in his eyes. When Dean opens his own and meets that worried blue gaze with a smile of his own. He murmurs, "I'm okay, Cas. Thanks for patching me up," and something in the back of Cassie's mind, some little bit of guilt for not believing him and sticking it out, loosens and releases. He's found someone, someone who can take his secrets and his love and his life without blinking, and he's not alone the way he was when they'd last met.

\-----

It turns out the body wasn’t in the basement after all.

Once they’re a safe distance away, they pull over and Cas passes a piece of paper up for Sam to read.

“It looks like they left a map just in case this happened,” Sam marvels. “These were some prepared murderers, that’s for sure.”

Jin leans over. “That’s the western edge of town, I think. There’s an old graveyard out there.” He glances around the car, squinting in the darkness. “We’re not too far from it now, actually.”

Sam nods and starts the car. “Just point the way.”

They get to the graveyard and burn the body that’s buried just outside it in the woods (and just as the map indicated, the grave had been marked by a large standing stone with an X carved into the top). Jin grumbles the whole time about local legends that change over time and sensationalization and people who bury things outside of real cemeteries where there’re prickers and poison ivy, but Cassie can tell he’s having the time of his life despite it.

The house isn’t a smoking ruin when they finally get back. It’s barely even smoky, and even the mysterious blood washes off without leaving a stain.

The three hunters (two hunters and an angel? Cassie’s not even sure how to classify them) are packing up, getting ready for the drive back to Kansas, and Cassie takes a moment to pull Dean aside.

They’re standing on the porch, and this time she has no trouble finding the words to say. 

“Thank you, Dean,” she says sincerely, smiling at him. “I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t come when you did.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “You’d’ve figured it out.”

She smiles back. “Maybe. But this way was easier.” She pauses, glancing towards the driveway where Jin and Sam are involved in a heated discussion of the physics of salt while Cas packs iron rods back into the trunk. “You’re happy, right, Dean? Doing this?”

Dean smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m happy.” She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flick to Cas and Sam.

Cassie turns and leans against the porch railing, smiling at her husband. “Would you have ever guessed ten years ago that we’d be here? Me settled down with a house and a husband, you with a home and a partner and your brother. I wouldn’t’ve, that’s for sure.”

Dean’s gaze had snapped to her, blush rising in his cheeks at the word _partner_ , but he set his shoulders and turned back to the railing, resting his elbows against it. “Yeah.” Cas looks up just then, giving Dean a small, private smile, and Dean’s face softens. “Yeah.”


End file.
